Captive
by Daishi Michiko
Summary: Princess Roderill Edelstein was kidnapped, the king and queen murdered, and the entire kingdom was left in poverty and shambles from countless Russian attacks. So, Gilbert Beilschmidt did what any merchant's son would do: he set off to rescue the maiden.


**Prologue**

**Wisteria**

Lovino's footsteps thudded and echoed against the sides of the dim halls. His amber eyes glittered in fear. "Feli!" he called.

A young man bearing great resemblance to him- down to the same cowlick on the opposite side of his head- exited his chamber upon hearing his name. "Lovino...? What is it?" he slurred in his mid-slumbering state. "Are you crying?"

Lovino scowled, shaking his head and wiping viciously at the tears threatening to form, threatening to betray his true feelings behind the stone wall mask he normally wore. He had to stay strong, for Feli. Feli was so frail...

Feliciano reached out a tentative hand to console his trembling brother. "It's okay, Lovino. What's wrong?"

"It's... It's Mom and Dad..." A sob wracked his body and he forced back the salty tears. "They're..."

Feliciano pulled his sibling into a gentle hug. "It's okay, Lovi..."

"No, it isn't 'okay'!" Lovino yelled into the younger's shirt. "They're gone..."

"Gone? Lovi, you've been practicing too hard, don't you think?"

"No, Feli! I'm serious!"

Feli was silent.

"I just... There was so much blood, Feli... I was so scared..."

Feliciano's eyes widened in realization as the truth finally hit him square in the face. Lovino clutched to his shirt tightly as he spoke, like a lifeline.

_I have to stay strong for Feli, _he thought. _Feli is so weak._

_ So frail..._

The wisteria bush bloomed that year in its full-fledged violet and mauve glory. Princess Roderill sat beneath the boughs of a pecan tree, skirts in a slight disarray, blown by the soft breeze and enveloping the stone bench. The leather-bound spine of her book rested on her leg. Her fingers tapped out a light, inaudible melody; she had never really been able to play a piano before. It was forbidden for women in her kingdom for women to play instruments and most seemed content with other, more "feminine" pursuits, but not Roderill. She longed for the day that she could learn how to play the beautiful music she'd only ever dreamed of.

She could see it now, closing her eyes: the men and ladies and children alike would gasp in utter confusion and shock as a _woman _took the stage. She would bow curtly- the unfamiliarity of bowing before her subjects!- and sit poised, erect, _defiant, _covered in rags and dirt.

Then she would begin with a lilting melody, followed by the melancholy undertones of a Renaissance piece, ending in a sonata. The last chords would echo through the silence, and then there would be sudden applause. The people would yell, "How wrong we were!" "Surely, this woman plays better than any man!" "She must play for us all again, for everyone!"

And she would remove the ragged cloak and reveal herself. They would recognize their princess, whether in velvet or rags, and they would fall to their knees in humiliation. She would play for them again, and again...

With a soft, wistful smile, rare to see on her normally stoic face, the princess returned to the harsh reality she had to face. The birds sang in her ears, the bees buzzed around her ankles. She returned to her novel, one hand returning to playing gently on a knee.

Within moments, the birds hushed their chatter, and Roderill's brows furrowed; her concentration had been broken. Glancing up, she felt an absence of sunlight on her face, and there stood a person before her, face and body covered in a black shroud as if to hide their identity. Roderill immediately smelled something light, pleasantly airy, like a perfume, and then her mind went blank as she fell unconscious. The darkly-adorned person- or was it a thing? a shadow?- replaced the bottle and rag carefully in its bag and in turn concealed the pouch in a loose sleeve, bending to carry the sleeping princess. The air smelled faintly of flowers, the castle staff later insisted.

But, objected the investigators, that must have just been the wisteria.

**And there we have it. I wrote this listening to Homestuck music (Mostly Cascade. It's just so inspirational!), which I apologize for if it upsets you. I hope you enjoyed this Prequel, and the first real (longer) chapter will be up when I am able to write it. Tally ho, my fellow Hetalia fans!**


End file.
